A Thousand Failed Dreams
by Kyoka-BOO
Summary: Fuji had a thousand dreams. A thousand failed dreams. All of them included Tezuka. AU TezuFuji


**Fandom:** Prince of Tennis  
**Title**: A Thousand Failed Dreams  
**Author/Artist:** MoonlitAffairs (Kyoka)  
**Theme(s):** #4—Jewel  
**Characters:** Tezuka Kunimitsu, Fuji Shuusuke  
**Rating:** T  
**Warnings:** Character death, Alternate Universe, Possible OOC  
**Disclaimer: **All characters are hereby disclaimed to Konomi Takeshi. I don't claim ownership, and am writing this as a non-profit work.  
**Author's Notes: **What's with me and number titles…. Ah, this is depressing…

Possible OOC, but I hope that it turned out okay.

* * *

**A Thousand Failed Dreams**

The final gunshot broke Fuji's eardrums.There was a distinct thud as the final victim fell to the ground, and another man staggered and fell as well.

The war was over.

Tears… always tears…

They glittered like diamonds in the moonlight, soaking his shirt and shining on his face like fresh morning dew and so silent that they couldn't conceal his whimper that faded into the empty night. They were dyed red and brown when splashes of blood dotted his face like blots of paint in a lone black-and-white photo. His eyelashes drooped softly and rested against his pale cheekbones, their moisture still shining like the brightest jewel.

Sometimes, standing at the edge of the building like this was overwhelming—to feel the wind run freely through his hair and to overlook Tokyo with it's vast buildings and bustling sidewalks, even at night, even when the rain soaked everything. The way the rain slipped down his cheeks and dulled the shining tears was too perfect. The rain was slowly turning to snow that sifted slightly through his hair and froze his bloodstained cheeks. Fuji didn't know whether or not to believe he was going insane as he slowly turned and realized that the battle scene before his was torn and scattered with blood, and where everyone else lay dead, Tezuka Kunimitsu watched him with troubled eyes.

There was blood, and Tezuka was in the middle of it, pale and taken aback.

With numerous wounds on his body, Fuji knew that Tezuka was dying.

He was troubled, but wipe his moist eyes and rid his face of the glistening jewels when he went to sit next to Tezuka. "We need to call an ambulance," he whispered as he tried to help Tezuka stand and then realized that he wouldn't—that his limbs were frozen. Fuji was always a strong person, but even when he used all his strength, he wasn't able to lift Tezuka's dead weight. Teeth gritted in frustration, he nearly fell back, unaccustomed to having to struggle so much. Tezuka's breath evaporated into a cloud of mist in the cold air.

"It's fine, Fuji." He put his hands on Fuji's shoulders and, with the last of his remaining strength, sat up. Was Tezuka a bloody martyr for a failed war? A failed cause…Amid Tezuka's ragged breaths, Fuji shook his head but still failed miserably in his attempt to pull Tezuka completely to his feet. Once, he nearly succeeded but slipped on the wet cement. They both fell back, Fuji into Tezuka's lap.

"No it isn't, Tezuka." He answered tactfully, as evenly as the other responded yet in a different way. He was skilled at withholding emotion, but some had escaped through, evident in the tearstains on his cheek. However, he soon assumed a proud position, smiling and coaxing his friend to accept help, even though he knew that he never would. Fuji was persistent, stubborn, and nearly an optimist. Tezuka, who was stern, passionate, and guiding, seemed resigned to the facts. The snow melted on his pale skin.

"No help will come."

Of course, Fuji knew this. After all, he wasn't an idiot. He wasn't an overly positive person, but perhaps out of a small, blind hope he spoke lies and looked to the clouded sky above for support until everything was peaceful, he sat up, and he was vaguely aware of Tezuka situating his head in his lap. He watched slowly as a white bird battled the storm and twittered. Even Fuji watched this incredible battle, as theirs was over.

The failed, but Tezuka distracted himself with the false hope of the bird's survival.

The war was over, and he was left to witness the casualties. It almost made him envy Tezuka.

Wars were devastating, and he slowly began to realize it as he surveyed Tezuka, laying in his lap, breathing slowly, and blood from wound seeping slightly into the fabric of his pants, unable to stand, and tired. Whether he died within the next ten minutes, or the next day, Fuji couldn't guess. Death was funny like that, and Tezuka was equally peaceful when he basked in the calm after the final climax. Death was able to blanket itself with false facades of sleep, and if Fuji hadn't felt a pulse in Tezuka's risk, he was almost sure that at that very moment, he would throw himself off the building.

"Fuji," said Tezuka, slowly yet strongly. "Live on."

Fuji nodded in a deceptively strong gesture. "Yes."

"Fuji." His voice quivered but still carried familiar strength and matched the ability to lift his trembling hand to touch Fuji's face. With a sting to the heart, Fuji slowly realized Tezuka's death, something that wasn't only slow, but painful. A knife carved a slow, painful pattern into his heart. Nearly choking, Fuji spoke words that were never spoken between them before. They were forbidden.

"I love you, Tezuka."

As if it was the last word he needed for peace, his hand slipped from Fuji's cheek. And suddenly, Fuji wasn't even sure if Tezuka heard these last words, because they were spoken too softly and he couldn't repeat them. Even if part of his heart would love Tezuka forever. He couldn't say anything more. Then again, what could they do? Would they bring back Tezuka, who would smile and pronounce his love. That didn't matter now, and Fuji knew that his words were a waste of breath.

It was as if he was banishing Fuji, but he slowly nodded and lifted his hand to stroke Tezuka's hair. The snow fell thickly and collected only his glittering eyelashes. Tezuka exhaled and kept close to Fuji. Maybe he felt cold. Upon touching Tezuka's skin, he realized it was stone. The peace and melancholy of the moment was fading slowly into desperation when Fuji realized he was surrounded by only a few corpses and Tezuka, and when he leaned in closer to touch the pale face that Tezuka's eyes were closed and he didn't respond to the touch. He tried to breathe, but all he managed was a dry sob. He was lonely.

God, he was lonely.

There wasn't even an 'I love you, too'.

The snow fell so thickly, like the feather's of angels. It only meshed with Tezuka's hair and face like a fine layer of dust. He swallowed slowly and leaned close to the man's face again; the cloud of his breath was enough to dispel the fine layer of dust. And slowly, the swell of realization, of anger surged through him and a scream louder than anything he ever voiced tore across the silence of death. His trembling blue eyes focused down at his companion than up at the angel-feather snow. The snowflakes melted on his face like beautiful, glittering jewels. Gathering the stiff body into his arms, he leaned his cheek against the cold test and fell against the glittering snow. He leaned in as if he wanted to whisper Tezuka a secret, or to kiss him a last time.

Even dead, Tezuka was stern and seemed to try and push him away.

He stood finally for a moment and looked down, his eyes dry and tear-free.

Was strength his only mask? He stood at the edge of the building but kept his promise to life. His feet gravitated—floated there and a noble spirit stood beside him with a stone-cool face as he breathed and spoke silent words to the darkness. Fuji, nearly falling into a spell, looked up, his eyelashes thick with jewels and snowflakes; for a moment, he nearly felt the gentle feeling of arms around him, or the brush of fabric against his skin.

Fuji had a thousand dreams. A thousand failed dreams. All of them included Tezuka.

He watched as a single bird tried to flutter in the storm but failed, and landed on his finger when he reached out, shivering slightly. It's white plumage melted into the snow, and it twittered and looked at the corpses. Fuji's finger touched the top of the bird's head. In his hand was a single, white feather, and the snow melted around with it and mixed with the fibers. The jewels on Fuji disappeared and he gripped the feather in his free hand.

Without warning, the bird flew into the endless white sky.


End file.
